


surround sound sexing

by maximized (florfering)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Brother/Brother Incest, College AU, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Twins, Incest, M/M, Phone Sex, Praise Kink, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:36:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florfering/pseuds/maximized
Summary: Then, the most damning thought he's ever had: Why not both?Why not have both a date with rosie palms and the rest of the call with Ethan? If he's quiet, his twin won't find out.It's a terrible idea. Completely idiotic. Absolutely dangerous. Incredibly risky.But Connor finds himself sliding a hand into his pants anyway, focusing entirely on regulating his breathing.





	surround sound sexing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youngtiredandhorny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngtiredandhorny/gifts).



> usual _**BIGGO INCEST WARNINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!! if yaint into that leave!!!!!!!!!**_
> 
> dedicated to owwiepop again cause he supplied me with the prompt and grasped my dick in a chokehold and possessed me to write it. thanks bitch. ily. mwah.
> 
> not beta'd for the most part so all mistakes are mine! i'll edit it later if i remember to lol

Just as Ethan accepts the call, before he has a chance to even say anything, Connor is putting on a high pitched voice and saying, long and drawn out, _”Bitch!”_

When Connor runs out of air, he hears nothing on the other side. He's thinking that Ethan hung up on him (wouldn't be the first), but when he pulls his phone away from his face to scan the screen, it shows that he's still on the call, and has been for 23 seconds. He balances the phone back between his cheek and shoulder, laying back down on his bed, and calls out softly, “Ethan?”

_“I'm going to disown you.”_

“Fair,” Connor agrees. 

There's a beat, and then they're both laughing. 

He's missed his brother so much. His chest warms and feels so fluttery and it's like he's falling in love all over again. Which is a really extreme reaction considering the last time they called was about two weeks prior. 

But it's not like they fell out of touch--they texted. But texting, while quick and efficient, could never compare to hearing the other person in a call. Plus, Ethan is a terrible texter. 

“So, how have things been going for you?”

Ethan hums. _“The cat I showed you? I've been thinking about adopting him.”_

Connor rolls over to his side. “Hey, that's pretty great! Does your dorm allow pets, though?” 

_“Actually, yes.”_

“What?” Connor rolls onto his back again. “Lucky…”

_“Or rather, they will once I'm through with them.”_

Connor grins. “Jesus Christ, Ethan. You're gonna run them ragged. Maybe you'll actually get kicked out this time.” 

_“Highly unlikely. Besides, did you expect anything else from me?”_

“No, not really,” Connor admits. He can't help the sweet smile that creeps onto his face. “Have you gotten the stuff ready for him yet?”

_“While I already purchased the collar and some dry food, I haven't found…”_

Connor starts to tune him out—not intentionally! But, Ethan’s voice is such a deep and familiar one in his ear and it's almost lulling him to sleep. It’s so different from his own despite the two being twins. Despite having talked in a lower register for about as long as he can remember, Connor still has to consciously lower it to keep it where he likes, but Ethan’s voice is just naturally that low and smooth. Connor stops himself there, though. He shouldn't linger on the specifics of Ethan’s voice or else he’d wax poetic about it for the rest of the evening. 

He zones back in to Ethan’s rambling. 

_“And strangely enough, Reed also prefers cats.”_

“Huh. I would've pegged him as a dog kind of guy.”

_“So did I. But maybe he likes cats because they resemble him. Hissy and fussy at first, but once you get to know them, they can be very sweet in their own way. And clingy.”_

Connor suppresses a smile. 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit. Usually, with other people, Connor’s the one taking the lead in conversations and filling in the empty spaces between subjects with polite enthusiasm, but it's nice to have a conversation where he doesn't feel the need to fill it with noise. 

_“But, enough about me. How have you been, Con?”_

Connor tries to resist smiling again at the familiar nickname. He schools his face, and more importantly, voice, into something disinterested. “Horrible, now that I'm talking to you.”

_“Oh my, my most endearing and precious twin brother, you say that, but you called first.”_

Connor rolls to his front, smothering a grin in his pillow. After he feels like he can talk again without having to dissolve into giggles, he raises his head and acquiesces, “But for real, nothing’s really been happening on my end. We're a month into the semester, so Dr. Stern thought it'd be a good time to tell us about our final projects. Some people didn't read their syllabi, so you can imagine their faces when she said it was sixty percent of the final.” 

_“Absolutely. Those poor souls. Did anyone leave at that point?”_

“Nah. There's just something about us art majors that make us gluttons for pain.” 

Ethan says, _“Interesting,”_ voice a little rougher and deeper than before, and it's with not enough amusement and too much consideration for it to be something light, as Connor was intending. Connor swallows, and he hope Ethan can't hear it over the phone. 

“A-anyway, how have your classes been? Look at any dead guys?” 

Ethan huffs a laugh. He launches into a spiel, but Connor can't seem to find it in himself to focus. Every time he tries to take in the words themselves, Ethan’s smooth voice washes over him and he drifts back to how he shaped the _‘Interesting_.’ He didn't elide it, didn't combine the second and third syllables into one consonant string; he carefully pronounced every syllable, lingering on the third, and made the word into something both somewhat whimsical and heavy at the same time. It was measured and precise, and something that he doesn't usually do. 

There’s a reason that he said it the way he did, and it isn't for laughs. Maybe it’s from an actual interest in one particular art major enjoying pain. 

Connor knows he’s overanalyzing and fantasizing, but he really can't help it this time. He keeps going back to the minute nuances in his voice at that time, and the constant sound of it now in Connor’s ear isn't helping at all. 

_Hello, voice kink, can you leave? Come back later? Please? Help a bro out. Stop haunting my dick every time I call Ethan._

But then an image of Ethan whispering something dangerous into his ear, low and husky, while pinning him down and grinding against him shoves everything else out of his brain, tempting and insistent. He can feel himself getting wet, and what a fucking day it is. He was so easily set off by this one phone call, is he dealing with some cycle bullshit or something? Maybe frustration from classes is making him hornier than usual. 

He shifts a bit to try to ignore the feeling of it, and instead focuses on actively listening, giving a hum of acknowledgment and a _‘yeah’_ every now and then. 

But the feeling of his own fluid slicking over the lips of his entrance is one that's insistent, and unless he ends the call to go rub one out and/or take a shower, it's not going to go away. He doesn't want to end the call, though, since their schedules just barely match up enough to allow weekly calls of their usual length of two to three hours, and he doesn't want his own horniness to intrude on his and Ethan’s intermittent bonding time. 

Well, if he thinks about it, it's a little late for that. 

Then, the most damning thought he's ever had: Why not both?

Why not have both a date with rosie palms and the rest of the call with Ethan? If he's quiet, his twin won't find out.

It's a terrible idea. Completely idiotic. Absolutely dangerous. Incredibly risky. 

But Connor finds himself sliding a hand into his pants anyway, focusing entirely on trying to regulate his breathing.

_“Hey, Connor, you alright? You haven't been responding like you usually do.”_

Connor swallows and clears his throat. “No, I‘m fine… just got a bit of a headache.” 

_“Do you want to stop and go to bed, then? It's 11 where you are, Con. You've got morning class tomorrow.”_

Connor shakes his head while slipping his hand into his underwear, and remembers that Ethan can't see him, so he admits, “No, hearing your voice makes me feel better.” He stops his hand for a moment. “Just keep talking and I'll be lulled to sleep by your dulcet tones, brother dearest.” 

Ethan laughs. If only he knew what Connor would rather be doing to his ‘dulcet tones’. _“Well, alright, then. So, as I was saying…”_

Connor can't believe that he pulled that off. He turns onto his side again and curls his fingers into a loose fist, rubbing it against the part of his pelvis where his dick lies. No direct contact with it yet, but the dull pressure sends faint tingles to his gut. Connor shifts a bit to get a better angle and lets out a soft sigh as Ethan asks a question. Connor’s eyes blearily open. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

_“... I was asking if you were planning on taking sociology. It's an interesting class, and a good elective credit.”_

Connor files the class away for later. “Sure, sounds fun. Sorry, I probably won't be answering any more questions very well.”

_“You sure you don't want to head to sleep?”_

Suddenly, Connor feels bad, especially with the concern clearly staining Ethan’s voice. “No, I'm not sleepy yet; I'll tell you when I am. Keep talking.” 

_“Alright. So, the teacher gives the student a sizeable number of points for tagging her driveway, which I think is…”_

He trails his hand upward and massages deep, right below his navel, mind drifting to the time when he was two fingers deep inside himself and could feel them wriggling around when he pressed hard enough on this spot. Both the memory and current sensations spark a intoxicating pleasure, and his eyes flutter shut as his toes curl and uncurl. His eyes prickle behind the eyelids.

He wonders what Ethan’s fingers would feel like. They're a bit shorter than his own, but they're thicker, details that he can still recall despite having catalogued years ago. Ethan takes after their mom in their shape, but after their dad in their callouses. He misses them. 

Instead, he wraps himself up in the contact he does have with Ethan now—his voice, the sound settling over him like a thick security blanket. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that it's Ethan dragging his hands on his skin, skimming the pads of his fingers across the expanse of his soft stomach. 

A whine builds in the back of his throat, but he swallows it down. As he brings his hand back down and spreads his legs to gently rub at his dick, he can feel his heart pounding steadily, thrumming in his ears. God, he really wishes he could see Ethan right now. Or lean back into his embrace. Or cuddle. Unrealistic, he knows, but it’s fun to dream. 

But for now, he just focuses on the familiar voice in his ear. Maybe not as familiar as he remembers, because it's lower and rougher than Ethan’s usual one, and he tries to focus back in on the words themselves rather than just letting them slough off his back. With it, the sound of his breathing, more closely resembling panting now, filters in, and he feels warmth layering his cheeks and neck. He forces himself to take a deep breath and— _crap_ —that was pretty loud. Maybe Ethan won't figure it out. Unless Connor had let some sort of incriminating noise out before without noticing, which at that point, he was doomed. 

Ethan stops rambling. 

Shit.

Connor’s death via embarrassment and shame looms over him, and he swallows, the rippling of his throat muscles way too noticeable. Ethan still hasn't said anything, and Connor has already composed half of his last will and testament. His back and cheeks are bathing in heat, and he’s got half a mind to just end the call now. 

_“Connor,”_ his voice is so hoarse in disgust and disbelief, and Connor’s already crossed his last mental _t’s. “Are you… touching yourself?”_

And that's the million dollar question, isn't it? Ethan hasn't hung up and signed restraining order papers yet, so Connor takes a leap of faith. “What if I am?” he says, and how steady his voice was is a surprise. It belies how much his palms are sweating and how much the heavy weight in his stomach is threatening to make him hurl his last meal.

 _“What if you are, huh?”_ Ethan murmurs, voice dripping with warm honey sliding down his back, leaving behind a trail of tingling heat. Connor shivers, and his entrance throbs, the anxiety ebbing from the tight knot in his stomach. He runs a finger over the lips as his legs drop open and it's so fucking hot. _“If you are, tell me what you're doing.”_

Connor lands on solid ground. He licks his chapped lips. “I've got a hand down my pants.” 

_“And…?”_ Connor can hear the sound of a zipper through the phone filter. Something twists, deep in his gut. 

“And, I'm…” He pushes the tip of a finger inside himself, feeling the fluid layer it, “fingering myself.”

 _“How many?”_ Ethan’s voice is still hoarse, but now Connor realizes it's in arousal, not disgust. He's just as into this as Connor is. Holy shit.

“Just one,” Connor says, “I just started.”

_“Add another one.”_

Maybe he’s more into this than Connor is, if his urgency is anything to go by. Connor slips another finger in, using his slick to coat both his digits and the rim of his entrance. The slide is pretty smooth, and it makes a wet sound that echoes through the room. Connor half hopes that the microphone picked it up and half hopes that it didn’t. 

“Got it.” 

_“Am I on speaker?”_

Did Ethan hear it? Was it really that loud? Was he asking because he wanted to hear _more_?

“No, just regular… Do you want to be?” 

_“No, but do you still have your headset with the noise cancelling headphones?”_

Oh. Connor knows what he's getting at. His lips feel dry again. 

“...Yeah. I'll get them.”

 _“Don't keep me waiting,”_ is all Ethan says, low and commanding, and it goes straight up his spine as a shiver. Connor drops the phone, scrambling off the bed. He knows he put them somewhere near his laptop, and while he's at it, he checks his door. Locked. Perfect.

He spots it hanging on his chair, and grabs it victoriously, shucking off his pants and retrieving the lube from the top drawer while he's at it. 

Since he can’t seem to get an even grip on the wire and instead fumbles with the jack, it takes him about three tries to get it connected, and when he does, he lies back on the bed, completely bare except for his loose t-shirt. He puts on the headphones and adjusts the mic, turning up the volume. 

“Done.”

 _“Good,”_ Ethan says, and his voice is so much louder and all encompassing now. Connor’s almost dizzy from how it resounds through his core. _“You did well, Connor.”_

Connor’s eyes flutter and his gaze unfocuses. “Thanks.” The praise settles over him, covering him in a blanket of bliss and warmth blossoms in his chest and settles deep in his core. It curls over his nape and Connor likens it to Ethan’s deft fingers sliding down the back of his neck, protective and possessive. He almost purrs in fulfillment. 

He doesn't realize he's waiting for his twin to give him something to do until about thirty seconds pass. 

Ethan must realize the same thing, because he's saying, authoritative and strong, _“Finger yourself again.”_

He nods, the headphones getting jostled in the process, and he fixes them. One hand clicks the cap open with a thumb and drizzles lube on the other. 

Ethan must have heard the cap, because he breathes, _“Going to fuck yourself for me, Con?”_ Connor shakily snaps it shut and spreads his lips with the dry hand while the other goes in with two fingers, sloppily circling his entrance once, twice, before sinking back in, the added lube making the slide that much smoother. 

He mindlessly twists and prods at his walls as Ethan goes on about _how he would_ _slowly drag his fingers in and out of Connor until he was sobbing for release_ and _it would be just a taste of what would come next_ and _do you want me to fuck you, Con?_ and before he knows it, he's panting again. 

Sweat pools in the crook of his elbows and knees, damp on his temple and on the hair on the back of his neck. He whines and feels his throat vocalizing more vulnerable mewls, but he can only hear Ethan’s filthy promises mixed in with gentle reassurances of, _“You're doing so well.”_ and _“I’ve wanted this for so long, Con.”_

Ethan’s voice is steady, and Connor has no idea how, because he feels like he's going to fall apart. He throws his head back on the pillows, landing with a dull _thud_ , and he can feel himself trembling with how much he wants Ethan to be here with him so he can shove himself inside Connor just as he's describing, pinning his wrists together above his head and fucking him mercilessly with no room for protest. His hips raise of their own accord as he works himself furiously, the hand spreading him flickering a tip of a finger back and forth across his dick. A haze fogs his mind. 

He hiccups Ethan’s name, and wipes at a stray tear on his cheek with a shoulder. The fabric soaks up the liquid, and it's a miracle how it doesn’t dislodge his headphones. He has a restless energy thrumming through his veins, pent up and ready to explode. His back keeps arching, lifting his hips higher and higher as he seeks release. 

He whines at Ethan. 

_“What do you want, Con? Tell me.”_

Connor attempts a reply, but his voice is _wrecked_ and cracks on the first sound that comes out. He swallows thickly and tries again. “ _Fuck_ me, Ethan,” he warbles, sniffing and feeling more tears slip through his eyes squeezed shut. “ _Please_.”

_“I will, Connor. Next time. For now, come for me.”_

Connor, ever the people pleaser (but for Ethan in particular), gives his dick a few more strokes and lets out a drawn out moan. Come splashes onto the sheets and tension drains from his body. His hips drop. He lies there, panting as his heart slows to a more manageable pace and he comes back to himself in layers. When he notices the feeling of the wet sheets under him, his nose wrinkles, and he makes a mental note to deal with it later. The sweat drying on his scalp makes him itch for a shower, but they’ve already closed. Boo. 

_“Connor?”_

Connor swallows. “Yeah?”

_“Do you… Are we…”_

Connor smiles tiredly. Ethan, such a wordsmith now. He hums loudly and obnoxiously, stripping off his shirt to lay it on the come stain. “Ah, I heard a ‘next time’. Brother dearest, are you planning what I’m planning?” 

_“Pretend for a second that I’m dumb. Enlighten me.”_

Aw, Ethan was still nervous. He masked it well over the phone call, but Connor could always tell with his brother with that slight waver in his voice. He flopped back on the bed, pulling the sheets up over his chest to cover his naked body. 

“Well,” he starts, long and drawn out, “I don’t really have to pretend—” Connor snickers inwardly at Ethan’s affronted noise, but he sweetens up his tone to alleviate his brother’s stress and drops the pitch. ”—but I was planning that I return the favor after finals. What do you say?”

And it seems that Ethan regains his confidence after that brief stint, because he smoothly replies with, “Maybe if you're good. Pass your finals and we'll see.”

Connor shivers again, eyes fluttering at the implication, and an easy grin makes it way onto his face. “We'll see, then, bitch.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i have a twitter,,.,.., yell rk1700 with me @rk1700hoe bc i NEED MORE PPL TO YELL OOC TWINCEST AU WITH!! also if youre friends with me I May Or May Not Share Wips. Just Saying. I'm That Thirsty For Friends. 
> 
> also thanks to sana for giving me that sweet sweet validation and cheering me on... love ya bitch!!!


End file.
